Joe the plumber is rushing his book out there. He will be paid handsomely. For what? Nothing. The politics of quick silver fame will be in play and the book will be remaindered into a garage sale before Sunday morning. So what. He has done his damage. Taking money from those who aspire to write something that lasts. Dust to Dust. Maybe so, but in the Longfellow poem, dust to dust was never spoken of the soul. So writers aspire to give us something that lasts. Something they put their families into poverty for, something they toil after that will never see the light of day. A piece of art. Something that shines a light into our pitiless existence that cannot be bought. Something a child running through the aisles of a library or surfing his computer will find and that gives him a moment of pause. But most of these efforts never see the light of day. As Timothy Egan points out in his NY Times piece, the money that could be held to publish literature is squandered on celebrities, politicians, failed talk show hosts and yes, Joe the Plumber. Could anything be more insulting to the American public? A man who was used as fodder in a failed election campaign professes to say something worthy of print. I don't think so. Not even an E book. Not even a blog. Joe failed as a plumber apparently and didn't' bother to pay his taxes, so why should he be lavished with money and praise for being a writer? I am sure there are some toilets he could learn to ply his former craft on, because Joe, you are not only not a plumber, you sure as hell aren't a writer.